


Echoes

by abkvs



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Introspection, M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abkvs/pseuds/abkvs
Summary: Jonas had kissed him tonight.Holy shit.(Or: Mitch gets sad and jerks off about it.)





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Another little dose of what-if canon divergence from ya pal abs. (Okay hand emoji.)

In his memories, the slam of his front door sounded like a gunshot. It was a bullet, shot by Dean straight into his confused, aching heart. He could barely hear the truck start up, the engine rev as it took Jonas away from him. All the thoughts in his head were so loud, each one vying so hard to be heard, that together they were just white noise, more deafening than the speakers at a thrash concert and more quiet than the grave he wanted to sink in to all at once.

For a long while, he couldn't take his eyes off the beat up screen that sat in the center of his front door. Any second now, Jonas would knock again, Jonas would come back. It was a stupid dream, but he couldn't keep himself away. Maybe the mess of knives on his floor, maybe that was some weird drug induced fever dream and everything was about to loop and start again, with Jonas, wet and angry, on his front porch, about to scream at him with everything his lungs had. Despite how much it had hurt, Mitch wanted it back. He wanted to do it over, do better this time. He would lock both of them in his room, pretend they weren't home and push Jonas and then himself out of a window and just… just _run._ To where, for how long, or why, it didn't matter. They'd get out of there and then everything would be okay somehow.

Yeah.

His head dropped down, his eyes finally broken from his wishful thinking. No. There's no happy ending for someone like him, he thought. He doesn't deserve it. It always comes back to that: he doesn't deserve anything. Not food, not happiness, and definitely not Jonas. His fists clenched, useless by his sides. He couldn't protect him.

A bitter laugh fell from his mouth. Protect Jonas? What would he have done, after every knife burrowed deep into Dean's back? What then? He didn't have a plan, he wasn't protecting anyone—he was just mad; just angry and useless and fucking stupid. No, he couldn't protect the damn freckles on Joey's nose from the sun if he tried. Jonas was the one protecting him. Jonas was the one who kept him from doing something stupid and impulsive that would have landed him back behind bars, and in a real jail this time, not for a few months but for life. For forever. A forever he'd have to spend never seeing Jonas's face again, never hearing his laugh anywhere but his twisted up memories.

He was an idiot—and Jonas was hurting because of him.

Mitch stuffed his hands into his hair, gripped tight, and screamed. It was all too much. Too much guilt, too much anger, too much sadness. He fucked it up again; he always fucked up every good thing he had. First his friendship with Jonas in middle school, then his mom's whole life, then Jonas's whole life _again_ and… and…

The whirlwind of household debris around him stilled as one glistening, perfect, sunbeam of a memory pushed its way to the forefront of everything. Jonas had kissed him tonight.

He had kissed Jonas in one stupid impulsive moment, and Jonas had kissed him back. Jonas had jumped, leapt up to bridge the distance between their disparate heights and _kissed him back._ He touched his cracked lips as the moment played back in his head, that one good thought looping and pushing out everything bad. Mitch felt lightheaded.

Suddenly, he was back in his bed, his body pulled through space in a moment his brain considered so irrelevant that it had thrown the memory away the second he sat down. He sat on the edge of his mattress and stared at his hands, calloused and pale and full of the memory of feeling themselves tangled into Jonas's perfect, curly hair, just like they always did in his dreams.

Jonas had kissed him back.

Holy shit.

Mitch fell back and to the side, his gangly legs thrown up onto his mattress as he stared up into the water stains on his ceiling. He had laid here next to Jonas not too long ago. They were high, sure, but coming down fast. It had to have meant something. And Buddy, oh thank god for Buddy, had scared Jonas right into his arms. It was only for a second, but it was a second that was burned into his brain along with every single tactile memory he could muster. The weight of Jonas's body pressed up against his… Mitch closed his eyes to make it clearer.

The past few hours felt like one hundred years. Everything that happened tonight had happened because he found some beer in the back of his aunt's fridge. He drank a few, got sloshed, and took himself right to Jonas's window because he was drunk and in love, and both things together had wiped out his already shoddy impulse control. He could remember the way Jonas had leaned into his arm when they walked down the road and the look in his eyes when they swam together, the water lit up with yellow and… pink. He wondered if pink meant what he thought it might. He knew blue was sad and green was scared… So, could pink mean…? God, he couldn't even let himself think the word. It was too much, too much hypothetical that he couldn't prove, too much maybe that could get his hopes up. But he kind of wanted to get his hopes up. He kind of wanted to fall into this fantasy and leave the knives on the floor in memories to be forgotten for a while. Jonas had kissed him tonight.

Jonas's lips alone had been the subject of so many wishful fantasies throughout his life, but no amount of shamefully jerking off alone could have prepared him for how incredibly _soft_ they were. Soft had always been his go-to word to describe Jonas, but, fuck, he couldn't have predicted how true it was. He also could never have imagined the desperation in Jonas's grasp. The way Jonas had latched on to his shirt, gripping it tight in his fist as he pulled down, pulled them together—he wanted Jonas to pull him to the floor, let them sink into each other and never, ever let go.

Fuck. His chest was tight, twisting into a knot as sadness and love and need all coiled together. Mitch pushed a hand into his hair and then pulled it down his face. He felt lightheaded; his thoughts felt like a crowded elevator and everything together was too much to parse right now. He needed out. He could get drunk, but that might make him too volatile, might make him think he was too strong and end with him trying to fight Dean. He could get high, but his weed was far away and his whole body felt like lead. That left only one last coping method in his toolkit. As the rain outside echoed the static in his head, Mitch flipped up the hem of his shirt and shoved his hand into his pants.

He tried to breathe easier, slower as he wrapped his hand around the base of his limp cock. He needed to navigate his hectic headspace; he needed to guide it to somewhere soft and splattered with freckles.

Spots.

Joey.

Jonas.

Perfect, beautiful Jonas.

Perfect, beautiful Jonas who had kissed him tonight, kissed him hard, gasped into his mouth and gripped his shirt collar like a lifeline. He wondered if the little whimpery moan was real, or if it was something his slowly hardening dick was making him believe. He wanted to believe. He wanted to imagine that maybe Jonas wanted him as badly as he wanted Jonas, that maybe he had finally unfucked himself enough for Jonas to like him back. It was possible. He wouldn't have believed it yesterday, but now… It seemed possible.

Mitch wondered what could have been, what might have happened if Dean hadn't broken down the door. Could he have convinced Jonas to stay? If he did, what would have happened? Would he have kissed him again, guided him down onto his bed and spilled his guts, telling Jonas everything about his real feelings? Or would they have sat down, talked about their feelings, and granted each other permission to use the b-word: boyfriend?

No matter which road he explored, everything kept coming back to that one real memory, that one feeling, that one moment where Jonas's lips were pressed desperately against his. That kiss was so raw, so needy. He wondered if Jonas was a needy lover. He wondered if Jonas would grip him like that again, fling his arms around his shoulders and beg him for more. _“I need you,”_ Jonas would say, his voice pitchy and desperate. His lips would stay parted between pleas, his eyes half lidded and gazing up at Mitch, daring him to make a move.

_“Please, Mitch.”_

“God, Joey,” he grunted as a little bead of pre dribbled down his erection. His breathing hitched as he quickly scrambled to undo his zipper. Jonas made him weak in the best possible way. Mitch wanted to ravage him, wanted to kiss every inch of his skin, to suck little hickies onto his neck and make sure that absolutely everyone knew exactly who was protecting him. He wanted the whole world to know how much he craved Jonas. His thirst alone could topple armies. If Jonas asked him, there's nothing he wouldn't do. He wanted Jonas to know that much, if nothing else.

“Joey, Joey…” Mitch pressed his head back harder into his pillow. His brain was still a jumbled mess, but as he steadied his strokes into long, slow pulls, soon he was able to try to focus in on one somewhat linear fantasy.

_They were kissing again. The room was a blur, sometimes Mitch's and sometimes Jonas's. They were on the bed, Jonas pinned under Mitch's body in a position not unfamiliar to Mitch's wet dreams. “Mitch,” Jonas would moan as Mitch pushed his hands under Jonas's wet hoodie. He'd pull it off slowly, peeling away each soaking layer until Jonas was bare and blushing and so, so perfect beneath him. Jonas would squirm and blush, looking so demure even though he knew exactly what he was doing to Mitch. Mitch would lean in, cupping Jonas's cock and balls, fondling him as he moaned, so cute and needy beneath him. Jonas would spread his thick thighs a bit, wordlessly begging for Mitch to find a place between them, to fuck him senseless._

Wait—no. _They were pressed up against a wall, private and somewhere nameless at school. Jonas was sandwiched between Mitch and cinderblock, his tiny body squished between a rock and something hard: Mitch's cock. Jonas would be stroking it underhanded, biting his knuckle with his cheek pressed against Mitch's chest, too shy to look at him. “It's so big,” he'd whisper, his voice full of awe and need that he was doing a terrible job of hiding. “It's all for you, baby,” Mitch would whisper back. Jonas would shudder and steal a glance up at him, his eyes searching Mitch's face as he made one very serious decision: “Maybe it's okay if I miss my next class…”_

Oh—now they were on Mitch's couch. _The lights were off, his aunt wasn't home, and Mitch was pulling down Jonas's underwear. Jonas's perfect ass was hiked up in the air as his knees burrowed into the couch cushions, his arms slung over the back. Mitch would spread Jonas's cheeks apart with his thumbs, exposing his perfect pink rim to the open air. Jonas would toss his head back and gasp, his cock twitching beneath him, and Mitch would waste no time in pressing his face against him, easily pressing his tongue inside of Jonas's tight hole. He would eat Jonas out until he was crying into the couch cushions, and then he'd pull back and rock his cock against Jonas's asshole, hotdogging it between his cheeks. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Mitch would ask, and Jonas would cry out, “Please!”_

Mitch bit his lip as his hips jerked up into his hand. Yeah, that was it. That was what he wanted to hear more than anything else: Jonas needing him. Jonas being _loud_ about needing him. He wanted his shy little nerd crush to completely unravel under his touch, wanted to make him squirm and whine and beg and, well. Maybe he wanted to make Jonas swear. He was pretty sure Jonas had never said a single dirty word in his life, and that made him want it even more. He wanted to hear exactly one phrase, tossed out of Jonas's lips when Mitch teased him to his limit.

_Mitch would grin and jerk his cock hard between Jonas's cheeks. “You gotta be more specific than that, babe,” he'd say, a little growl in his voice. Jonas would struggle to form words. He'd reach for his aching cock and Mitch would swat his hand away. “Say it, babe. What do you want?” he'd ask as he watched Jonas shudder and pant. Jonas would bite his lip, his muscles tensing as he let his arousal become his courage. “I want you to fuck me,” he'd whisper at last. Mitch would groan and grip his ass harder. “Louder," he'd say as he landed a smack on Jonas's soft behind. Jonas would yelp and finally it would explode from his mouth: “Fuck me, Mitch!”_

That was it. “Fuck, fuck, Joey!” Mitch cried as he thrust his cock one last time into his fist, his cum shooting straight for the ceiling as the thought of Jonas letting go for him sent him over the edge.

He was coated in sweat, his chest heaving as his arms fell limp by his sides. Slowly, the white faded from his vision. It was still raining outside. He had cum all over one thigh. Jonas was somewhere out there, sad and alone. The world was coming back to devour him again. For as good as those fantasies were, once he came his insides felt like a black hole again.

But Jonas had kissed him. That had been real. And maybe, maybe, that meant he might finally have a future worth looking forward to. Tonight was going to be rough, but things were going to be okay. Dean could keep them apart outside of school, but inside was a whole other ballgame. He would see Jonas again tomorrow. Maybe he would get to kiss him again.

Mitch sighed and closed his eyes as the rain and his post-orgasm exhaustion began to lull him off to sleep. Tomorrow would be better. After all, any future with Jonas in it was worth living for. And now maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance.


End file.
